Skyrim Snapshot: The Informant
by Zura
Summary: Oaths are powerful things, not meant to be taken in vain. When the sun begins to disappear every other month however, even the strongest bonds of loyalty, love and duty can or must be broken. Stolen from home, the most faithful of servants has to make a choice between right and wrong, oath and obligation, lord or land. One shot.


The night was cold and the air heavy with moisture as strong hands hauled her out of the carriage. Blindfolded, gagged and bound with thick rope she could do little to resist being led about in the chilly Skyrim dark hours. They could not have gone far but it was hard to tell how long it had been when one was groggy and bewildered. None of them had spoken to give her a clue about her captors and she did not get even a glimpse of them before losing her sight. Whoever they were, they were professionals who guided her towards crackling torches over creaky wood planks. Even blindfolded she could sense the height of their position from the wind moving below and hear the river coursing in the distance. The smell of fresh grass, horse and a light mist faded as they entered a building that was at least less frigid than outside.

It was progressively warmer the further they went in and she was carefully led down many steps. A heavy, clanking door was opened at the end of them and she was ushered into a stifling chamber flush with heat and thoroughly recirculated air like it was a cell meant for five people that contained twenty. A murmur of low conversations stopped and she was sat down in a fairly comfortable chair to end her bizarre journey. The blindfold was taken off first and she blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light. An Altmer face – a Thalmor face – bent over her went to work taking off the gag and then undid her bonds. She thought furiously of any evidence of Talos worship in the house but was even more enraged that the elves would care about that with the world going to Oblivion.

Her hands freed the elf moved out of her vision and she could see the whole room. It was rather small for how many people were in it but it was not a cell at all. There were a handful more Thalmor in the cramped space which looked like a bar or cellar but the people inside could not have been Aldmeri lackeys. Probably two dozen or so were all staring at her like they were expecting something and she recognized none of them. There were all kinds of mer and men, cats and lizards, Nords and Imperials present and her mind struggled to imagine what was going on. Only when she saw the face of Balgruuf huddling over a mug did she realize something was amiss.

"Jarl?" she asked but he did not come off from his stool. A tall Imperial came forward who was as brawny as any Nord and stood before her. His short, coal black hair was beginning to gray and his lined but soft face indicated he spent much of his time indoors. The man's hawk like nose had darkling, peregrine eyes to match and she knew immediately this person was dangerous.

"Greetings." he said in that utterly pretentious southern accent. "Would you care for something to eat or drink?" She felt queasy already from the trip and breathing so many people's air wasn't helping.

"If you're going to kill me, get on with it." she said curtly.

"No-no, that's not what you're here for. Put your mind at ease." he held up his hands. "Apologies. Getting you here this way was necessary."

"Necessary? Necessary?" she mocked. "Thalmor ambushing me in my own bed, attacking me in the dark and hauling me from the city in the dead of night was your idea of necessary?"

"Yes." he nodded. "Our Altmer friends are long practiced at such matters. If the sequester team was rough I again apologize but secrecy is of the utmost import."

"Why?" she demanded. "Who are you? What do you want with me?"

"My name is Procyon Klast, His Majesty's Imperial Battlemage. This is Sanwhen Utor and her team from the Third Embassy," he raised his hand at the elves, "behind me are General Tullius of the Fourth Legion, Ahan Wuuthard representing the Stormcloaks, Esteemed Emissary Shiai-Juh of Black Marsh-"

"Hold on." she interrupted. "Stormcloaks and Imperials? Working with Thalmor and Argonians? Jarl Balgruuf, what is this madness?"

The leader of Whiterun was looking older these days and with good reason. He slid off his stool to join the Imperial and looked weary beyond reckoning. "This is not about factions or wars of men and mer, Lydia." he said tiredly. "These people are here because they need your help. They need to find _him_."

The dark haired housecarl dropped her head down. There was no need to make clear who he was talking about. She should have known. Everything good and bad in her life began with that cat. The Jarl returned to his seat and staring at the floor she responded, "I know what you want. And I can't help you."

The tall battlemage drew up a chair next to her and sat in it backwards to rest his arms along the top rail. "You've heard the rumors, haven't you? That a Dread Lord has risen from the ranks of the undead and that he is the one responsible for blackening the sky every alternating month. That his night kin run unchecked across the land and their numbers increase every time the sun does down. Not since the Camoran Usurper has such a diabolical force threatened our land."

She studied the grooves in the wood under her feet and made herself listen as he went on. "Their influence is growing and not just the wild ones who attack people indiscriminately. In Markarth their position is so strong that the Reachmen trade with them. There are whispers in the streets of their agents offering safe passage for caravans heading in and out of the city. People are so frightened that they're paying. This problem is only magnifying, not abating, Lydia. Every twilight month they become bolder, their actions less hidden. From the shadows the Dread Lord pulls their puppet strings and every sign points to him being the Dragonborn Khajiit that was once your master."

The long suffering housecarl picked up her head at last. "You can't know that for sure."

"That's why we need your help." the Imperial urged. "This fellowship is comprised of members from every corner of Tamriel. We represent nations and kings alike. No expense will be spared, no stone left unturned to snare this agent of destruction. To find him we must know him and you know him better than anyone else alive."

"I did once." she acknowledged bitterly. "We were inseparable, but that was long ago."

"Did you know him before his Thaneship?"

"No, just after. He was little more than a refugee adept with a bow and owning only the clothes on his back then. But you're wasting your time."

"Explain that crass sentiment, girl." a rude Breton in a pompous shirt demanded.

"Mind your tongue." Lydia snapped. "I owe you no allegiance."

"Please, lords, this is not an interrogation." the tall mage rose from his chair. "We get nowhere with sharp words. Lord Bhellen, please frame your question as such."

"Fine." the annoyed foreigner smoldered as the mage reseated himself. "Why is this a waste of our time?"

"He's grown beyond your reach." she explained. "He cavorts with Daedric princes and Dragons, arms himself with arcane equipment and enchantments. I've seen him forge, hammer and reforge a weapon for sixteen hours straight because of the Dwemer ghosts whispering in his mind telling him it wasn't perfect yet. And his Shouts...his Shouts bring down the very sky. You're not looking for a man anymore, you're looking for a force of nature."

"But he _is _a man still. Or was." an Argonian pointed out in a raspy tone.

"Let's start with his real name." the Thalmor woman suggested as she set down ink and parchment.

"I don't know." the housecarl said. "He was a master thief by trade and loved hid aliases."

"You never learned his true name?" a flame haired Bosmer asked incredulously.

"I called him Thane, then cat or kitty to annoy him, finally 'this one' when we became close. He liked that last one best of all." she recalled the bittersweet memories of better days.

"Was he devoted to any gods in particular? Any religious acts?" the Thalmor queried.

"No...not that I remember, why?"

The Altmer looked to Klast who nodded. "It is a mystery we are trying to solve. Was he in possession of any elven artifacts that you know of? Did he mention the elven pantheon at all?"

"No, but why do these things matter?" the housecarl wondered.

"Tell her, Sanwhen. If she can confirm anything it will help." the battlemage advised.

"We have reports of a lone warrior on the northern coast of Skyrim wandering around during the light months. According to sources from the area he or she wears blinding white armor of an extremely ancient elven make. This person also wields a bow of light and a flaming sword that has been carving through bandit and vampire alike."

"Sounds like you should recruit him." Lydia suggested but the elf shook her head.

"It also has attacked Imperial and Thalmor holdings. Only two accounts exists of people with firsthand contact with this creature, a bandit left alive specifically to spread the word of its existence and scrap of paper penned by one of our mer shortly before he choked to death on his own blood.

"The outlaw spoke of a holy warrior that made him watch as it tore apart the others. Shooting arrows of sunlight and covered head to toe in white armor this person called itself 'The Scion of Auri-El' and no other criminal was spared. The bandit was usefully a skooma addict and claimed the voice was distinctly Khajiit but saw no face nor tail. Weeks later it arrived at a Thalmor garrison in the area and demanded that the mer stationed at the fort evacuate or be expelled by force. Naturally they refused and it brought down a quote, 'rain of fire', unquote, on their heads. There were no survivors but as I said, one the mer scribbled a short note before his death. It detailed the beginning of the attack and that he swore he saw fur but little else. The blast marks came absolutely from above and I've not seen their like before. Anything familiar?"

Lydia processed the elf's words but nothing could definitively tie him to the attacks. "I'm sorry, I can't say for sure. It does sound like him though. Mystic weapons, taking on overwhelming odds, leaving no witnesses unless he meant to. I don't understand this religious angle though."

"You said yourself he enjoys his aliases." the Altmer scribbled without looking up. "We believe that this persona is being used to clear out the northern shore of any inhabitants for some unknown purpose during the twilight cycle."

"Excuse me lords and ladies," the Stormcloak officer spoke up, "but I'm having a little trouble understanding why the Dragonborn is being likened to a champion of an elf sun god. Wouldn't he have angered the Divines with this ploy? Wouldn't he have been identified from his Shouting by now?"

"He's careful like that." Lydia explained. "He knows that people know about him. He wouldn't Shout if he was keeping his identity concealed."

"Then why the holy facade? Odd behavior for a vampire."

"We don't even know for sure if he is one." General Tullius pointed out.

All eyes turned back to Lydia who gulped hard. This was what it had come to, wasn't it? He had forced her to do this. "Housecarl?" Klast prodded. "Do you know?"

She squirmed in her seat. Even after all this time it was hard to go against him. "He is."

"You are sure?"

"Am I sure? I was there." she lamented. "He made me swear an oath never to tell. I have broken it here."

"You're doing the right thing." Balgruuf sipped from his mug. "How did it happen?"

"We were coming back from Riften." she remembered. "They ambushed us posing as Vigilants of Stendarr and put up a hell of a fight. One of them bit into his wrist but neither of us thought it was serious until well after the battle when he simply collapsed. I dragged him to a cave and for two days he appeared to be on the verge of death."

Dark memories clouded her mind but she forced herself on. "On the third night he woke. He was howling, delirious, feral. I did not realize what was happening until he attacked me. I fought him off at first but his teeth sank into my neck. When I came to he was himself again and swore a thousand apologies, saying it would never happen again. It never did, to me anyway. We went back to Riften and I was cured of the condition but his path was set. That was really the beginning of the end. He came home less and less after that until he never returned."

The only sounds in the room were the popping torches and the Altmer woman's busy pen scratching words into parchment. Clearing his throat Klast inquired, "What do you know of the Dawnguard?"

"Not much." Lydia admitted. "I know they reformed to fight the vampire menace but attacked citizens in the street accused unjustly of vampirism and eventually fell apart."

"We didn't fall apart." a woman in the rear of the room corrected and came around to the front of the group. She had a hard face and her cloth was considerably poorer than the regal finery almost everyone else wore. "We were smashed to pieces."

"This is Mirinsa, one of the last members in Skyrim." Klast introduced her. "Please listen to what she has to say."

Lydia's stomach turned as the dark skinned woman began her story. "We were hit not long before the cycles of twilight and normal day started. They killed all our sentries in the middle of the night and attacked from seemingly every direction when the alarm was sounded. I put on my armor half asleep as they broke down the front door but then retreated when our crossbows started firing. In our hubris, we followed them out of the keep and down the mountainside, bent on revenge. That's when the real attack struck."

The woman paused as she too recalled harrowing events. "A gigantic, sickly dragon fell out of the sky with a Khajiit and a woman on its back. It started tearing down the keep with foul magics and black skeletons began rising out of the ground under our feet. The cat and the woman went to work on our rear flank while the vampires wheeled about to face us. He had a glowing red, black knife in each hand while his companion launched lighting at anyone who came near. Above the screams both he and the dragon's voices shook the earth and the cat devastated our ranks with terrible blasts of ice that froze men to death where they stood."

The housecarl buried her head in her hands. She wanted to believe so badly that the rumors were just that, perhaps malicious lies spread by his enemies. But this could not have been anyone else. She even knew the very knives the Redguard spoke of for she had seen them forged under a bright full moon.

"Was it him?" the battlemage asked gently.

Wiping moisture from her eyes with her palm before sitting back up Lydia confirmed, "Yes." in a hollow tone. "I met the woman once before, one of the last times he came home."

"Who is she?" the Thalmor asked.

"My replacement, I imagine." Lydia sighed. "Never got a name. She had an unhealthy pallor that I suppose makes sense now."

"Lydia, this is very important." Klast coaxed. "Do you know where we can find him?"

"No." she shut her eyes and massaged the bridge of her nose. "But I can guess."

"Go on."

"He and I spent years exploring Dwemer ruins together. From the materials there he learned to smith and forge with the help of the two orcs in Markarth. He also studied extensively under Master Calcelmo and the two were good friends. I would start there."

"We did." A Nord spoke up. "Master Calcelmo is dead."

"What!?" she cried. "When? How?"

"This month, in his sleep." the Thalmor reported. "We suspect he was poisoned by the Dragonborn."

"No...no that can't be." Lydia denied. "They were kindred spirits, by Ysmir, he introduced the sage to his future wife!"

"Calcelmo contacted us about having volatile information concerning your friend. Highly sensitive journals and research materials were taken from his study the night he passed. 'Tis too much of a coincidence, milady."

"Divines have mercy, this can't be..." she begged. "Let this not be true."

"Where else besides Markarth?" Klast pressed on through her distress.

"Ah...I don't...have you checked his house in Falkreath?"

"Burned to the ground. Nothing left but ashes."

"Shor's bones. Solitude?"

"Empty. Only cobwebs remain."

"Talked to the Greybeards?"

"I climbed the 7,000 steps myself, not a pleasant journey." the battlemage nodded. "They said no and wouldn't tell me even if they did know."

The housecarl placed her hand over her eyes and squeezed them shut. That left another possible place that she dearly hoped was a long shot. "There is...one more." she took away her hand and opened her eyes. "But I am loathe to say."

"Why?"

"Because you might go."

"We must exhaust all possibilities." the Thalmor woman looked up from her notes. "No matter the cost. People are dying. Tamriel is dying, Lydia."

The housecarl shuddered and shook her head sadly. "Deep underground, where the Falmer rule and the Dwemer's machines still roam. The Silent City, FalZhardum Din...Blackreach."

"A Dwemer ruin? A mythical one?" an orc said in disbelief.

"No myth, I've been there. It is as terrible and grand as you might think."

"Why wouldn't we want to investigate then?" the Thalmor woman asked.

"You don't understand." she warned. "I've been to Aftland, Mzinchaleft, Raldbthar, Avanchnzel, Mzulft and Nchuand-Zel. Every ruin you might have heard about and a few you haven't. With Master Calcelmo gone I'm one of the foremost experts on the Dwemer in Skyrim and I know a fraction of what the Dragonborn does. Even if he wasn't a scholar on them, he's been absorbing bits of their collective memories for years from ancient ruin we found. I wouldn't be surprised if he could build a Steam Centurion from scratch by now."

"What does that matter how many machines he scrapes together? We have numbers on our side." the Argonian rasped.

"Are you listening? If you go down there, you'll get a massacre." she promised.

"We have fought many wars, lady housecarl." General Tullius said. "We know how to fight."

"Respectfully General, you have no idea what you're talking about. The Falmer are a nation unto themselves and you will pay dearly for every step you take in their territory. Even if you make it to FalZhardum Din, the bulk of the horde waits with horrors of the caves on their side. And if you think the Dragonborn is there, every scrap of Dwemer metal will be pointed in your direction."

"It sounds like your connection to your master betrays your high opinion of him." the rude Breton spoke again.

"You kidnapped me from my bed because you wanted answers. If he's down there, you face terrible odds. If you send a detachment, they won't even make it to the city. If you send an expeditionary force, they might make it there just to die inside the great cave. And if you send an army, it will be cut off from the surface by force, surrounded, harried every step of the way. They'll make it to FalZhardum Din and engage his forces but all of them will die in darkness."

"You know this to be true?" Klast gestured with his hand.

"I do. You and I have seen many battles, Imperial, but I have been there in the deep. It is another world that will test the mettle of your strongest, bravest men and break the rest. You are speaking of invading a Dwemer hold defended by a man who can bend reality around him and acts as if he were one of the Dwemeri himself. None of their cities ever fell to Nord attackers until they nearly destroyed each other first. Blackreach would be at full strength with a legend leading Divines know how many machines and vampires against you."

"You think going down there would be suicide?" Tullius asked.

"Close, yes." she confirmed.

"How would you do it then?"

This wasn't a question she was expecting. Her and the Khajiit found success plundering the ruins and avoiding death because they could sneak noiselessly past hundreds of Falmer and their settlements. Even then the journeys were exceptionally dangerous and had nearly claimed both of them many times. An army wouldn't be able to sneak by a single one and they would run headlong into devious traps both Falmeri and Dwemeri.

"You need to make sure he's there first." she started. "Send scouts, one or two man teams at most. They need to be able to move silently, without torch if need be. The Falmer can't see the lights but they can feel the heat and hear the fire crackling. They have to be lightly geared and well provisioned in case they are trapped. The more I think about it, the more a vampire cat sounds perfect for the job."

"And if he is there?" Balgruuf asked.

"You'll need three armies attacking Mzinchaleft, Alftand and Raldbthar at the same time. Double the healers, make sure every man is carrying poison antidotes. Supply trains will get you killed if you think you can bring them all the way down there because they'll be hit first and mercilessly. The Falmer aren't as stupid as they seem and they know that surfacers can't subsist underground like they do. You'll only have a few days to make it to the Silent City because if you go slower, he'll have time to prepare something truly terrible. Keep it as quiet as you can even up top but he'll probably know you're coming anyway."

"What kind of casualties can we expect?" a Dunmer lord wondered.

"I don't know. Even if all that went off without a hitch, they would be high. With him at the helm of fully active Dwemer defenses, surrounded by loyal vampires and his artifacts...maybe even a dragon...most of your men, probably."

"How would he get a dragon there? That sounds impossible given what you say."

"Never underestimate what the Deep Elves were capable of. If you send people to Blackreach, no matter the number, none of them may ever see the sun again."

"We might not see the sun again up here." the Stormcloak officer reminded her.

The housecarl sighed wearily. She was tired, drained from this conversation and didn't want to talk anymore. "May I go now? There is little else to discuss."

"There is one last matter, before you leave." the battlemage said in a tone that set her at unease. "If he is there and we do find him...we will need you leading the combined task force to Blackreach."

"Wh-what!?" she stumbled. "You jest!"

He merely shook his head slowly and Lydia put her hand to her mouth in stunned disbelief. "I've given you everything, told you all you wanted to hear. How can you expect me to do this?"

"You said it yourself. You're a Dwemer expert, you've explored all of the ruins we need to traverse and you're the only person alive who in addition to those things knows the Dragonborn intimately. If we bring the fight to him, you might be the lone person in Tamriel able to get close enough to kill him."

"This was your plan all along, wasn't it?" she realized. "You would have me be your assassin as well as break every oath and promise I ever made to him."

"Yes." Klast agreed and reached into his fancy robe. From inside he produced a thick ream of paper folded in half and well creased. Handing it to her Lydia unfolded the papers to discover they had on them a large list of names. Written front and back with three columns each there must have been thirty pages in total.

"What is this?" she poured over the names.

"Cheydinhal in eastern Cyrodiil is hard to defend and they've been under almost constant attack by the night kin even during the day hours of the light months. That is an outdated, incomplete list of people dead or missing from that one city we've been able to keep track of. If you skip down to the Ks, my mother, father, three sisters, wife and both sons are on there. If you want more, I have scores from just the Imperial domains."

She looked up from the stack in her hands and the battlemage leaned forward with deadly seriousness. "There is nothing I wouldn't do to find this man and drive a length of steel through his black heart. You can keep that list knowing it is but a sample of the ruin your master has brought upon us all."

He leaned back and his harsh eyes bored into her. "We will take you home and you can lay there in your warm bed thinking about how you've done nothing to stop names from being added to that list. I hope your conscious is clear the next time I ask you to help us."

True to his word, the mage had the Thalmor return her in secret back to Breezehome before dawn. Yet the tortured housecarl could not sleep until well past day break and when she did, fangs, darkness and glowing eyes chased her in her dreams.


End file.
